A Broken Life
by D3M1G0D54KUR4
Summary: JULY 13, 1954: 15 year old Annabeth Chase's life is shattered by a simple knock on her door in Athens, Greece. Annabeth, her mother and brother are thrust into cattle cars, where they discover their destination: Rome. Annabeth desperately fights for her freedom and for those around her...but will that and love be enough to keep her alive? OOC & MORTALS! Give this story a chance! :D
1. Chapter 1

A Broken Life

ATHENS, GREECE, JULY 1954

During the darkest hours of the night, a simple knock on the door forever changes the life of fifteen-year-old Annabeth Chase, and including those around her.

Pulled out of her once comfortable life, she, her younger brother, and her mother are trust into a cattle car, where she soon discovers their destination.

Rome.

Separated from her father, Annabeth desperately fights for her freedom and for those around her.

But will that, and love be enough to keep her alive?

* * *

Chapter 1

The Discovery

_It's been at least a day since you've moved to San Francisco. You're settled in, and you're bored out of your mind. Its two weeks before school starts. Your mother and father are gone at work and your little brother is playing with his Nintendo DS, he recently received on his birthday. You've got nothing to do, so you think about taking a walk around your new home. It wouldn't hurt, you think to yourself as you wander around._

_After endless minutes of walking around, you find yourself in your parent's room. With a simple shrug, you keep walking around. But something catches your eye._

_Lying on your mother's nightstand is a book. A book, with a picture of a young girl with long, blonde ringlets and stormy gray eyes that would startle anyone any day; you recognize the girl as your grandmother—the younger version that is. You pick it up and read the title; _A Broken Life _by _Annabeth Jackson. _You gasp—that's the name of your grandmother! Flipping to the front inside cover and to the next, you read the dedication. _Dedicated to my loving husband Perseus Jackson, my daughter Amelia Jackson, and my soon-to-come granddaughter! _You nodded your head when you realize that the book was published before you were born._

_You turn to chapter one._

* * *

-1-

MY LIFE SHATTERS LIKE

GLASS

They had taken me in my nightgown.

On this very day, July 13, 1954, my life went downhill; from a comfortable life surrounded by a loving family, to being somehow _arrested_. Unless you would like to follow me on my marvelous adventure, I suggest putting this book down straight away.

It all started during the darkest hours of the night. I could not sleep, no matter how hard I tried. I counted sheep, I shoved all of my thoughts aside—none seemed to work. So I stood up from my comfortable bed and dragged my feet toward my desk. Settled at my desk in my owl-print nightgown, I opened up a brand new case of pens and pencils. It was a gift from my aunt on my fifteenth birthday. The midnight breezes floated through the curtains waltzing to the soothing movement, making myself shiver. I could just barely smell the delicate aroma of the flower bed below my bedroom window. I was just about to reach over for my sketchbook, when I realized it wasn't in its usual spot. I stood to search, when my writing tablet caught my eye. It was opened—because a couple days ago, I wanted to start writing another letter to my favorite cousin Rachel, but I was whisked away from the chance. Now, I was free to begin the letter, full of emotions like always, to the one and only Rachel Elizabeth Dare; my cousin and best friend, in other words. _Dear Rachel._

I was inches away from continuing, when something made me jump out of my chair instantly.

And it wasn't _just_ a simple knocking.

It was an urgent booming. Fists pounded on our front door, yet no one stirred within the house. I made my way to my bedroom door and peered out of the crack between the doorframe and the actual door itself.

My mother stood in front of the framed map of Greece I had drawn two years back. My mother's eyes were squeezed shut, her face pulled with an anxiety I had never seen on her face. She was praying, by the looks of it.

"Mother?" called my younger brother Malcolm. Only one of his light blue eyes was visible through the crack of his own door. "Are you going to open it? It sounds as if they might break it down."

Mother turned to see both Malcolm and I peering out from our rooms. She attempted a forced smile. "Of course, darling, I will not allow anyone to break down our door."

The sound of her heels clacked against the wooden floors of the hallway. Mother was beautiful and elegant, or even stunning. Her long, silky skirt swayed just about her ankles. Mother's smile lit just about everything around her, making up for the fact that her stormy gray eyes were as startling as ever. I was fortunate enough to have her honey-colored ringlets, except I had her gray eyes also. My ten-year-old brother had her smile and most of his features came from Father, though the two of us shared Mother's still-expanding intelligence, and large range of pride.

Loud voices erupted from the foyer.

"The Roman Officers!" Malcolm whispered, growing pale. "Caldas said they came and took away his neighbors in a truck. We might be getting arrested!"

I shook my head, refusing to believe Malcolm's theory. "No, not here." The officers from Rome had absolutely no business here. We are _not_ criminals! To confirm my belief, I silently crept toward the end of the hall, and peered around the corner. Unfortunately, Malcolm was correct. Three Roman officers had Mother encircled. They were black hats with a red lining, and a gold star above the brim. Their uniforms consisted of the colors black, green, and red. The taller officer had little booklets in his hands, which I automatically recognized as our passports.

"Please, we need more time. We will be ready in the morning at best," Mother pleaded. My hand shot up to cover my open-mouth. Never yet had I ever heard, or thought, that Mother would plead. I always viewed her as the strong and brace woman with a kind heart, filled with pride. She was the woman I wanted to be one day, in other words, she was my role model.

"Twenty minutes—or you will _not_ live to see morning," sneered one officer.

"Lower your voice, I beg you, I have children," Mother whispered.

"Twenty minutes!" the officer barked, throwing down his still-burning cigarette on our newly-washed and polished floors, slamming the heel of his boot down upon the cigarette, putting it out immediately. I felt myself shaking as I dashed back into my room. My breathing was uneven and ragged.

Questions embedded themselves within my head. Were we being arrested? Where was Father when we needed him the most? A loaf of fresh bread had appeared on my windowsill, hidden away behind the curtains still waltzing, and a large stack of drachmas were tucked under the loaf. Mother appeared through my door way with Malcolm close behind.

"But Mother, where are we going? What have we done?" he asked.

"It is a misunderstanding, I am sure of it. Annabeth, are you listening? We must move quickly—pack all that is useful but not exactly dear to us, understand? Annabeth! Clothing and shoes must be our priority, and try to fit all that you can into one suitcase." Mother glanced toward the window where the bread sat. She swiftly glided over and slid the bread and money onto the desk and snapped the floral curtains shut. "You must promise me that if anybody tries to assist you, you will simply ignore them. We must not pull any family members or friends into this matter—understand? We must fathom* this out ourselves. Even if someone calls out to you, you must _not_ respond or show them any sign of you hearing them."

"Are we being arrested?" began Malcolm.

"Promise me!"

"I promise," Malcolm said in a soft voice, "but where is Father? Is he coming with us?"

Mother froze, her eyelids shutting for a moment as she breathed in and out slowly. "I am sure that he will be meeting us. Gather your things now; we have less than twenty minutes! Now!"

My bedroom began to spin as Mother left to pack her own suitcase. Mother's words repeated themselves over and over again as if they were part of a broken record in my head. "Now! Now!" What was happening? I may be smart, but I still felt confused as one could be. The sound of Malcolm running about and tripping over things in his room pulled a cord within my consciousness, bringing me back to reality. I heaved my suitcase from my closet and opened it on my bed.

Exactly a year before, the Romans had begun moving their troops over the borders of Greece. They made camp, and now we were engulfed in preparation for war. So the Romans began to arrest us innocent Greeks. _Certain_ Greeks by the looks of it; some stayed, some escaped, and some were arrested, just like we were being. When I had complained at the dinner table about the situation, Father yelled at me and told me to never, ever say anything deprecatory*about the Romans. He sent me to my room shortly after. I never said anything about it out loud after that, but I thought about it quite frequently.

"Shoes, Malcolm, extra socks, a coat!" I heard Mother shout from down the hallway. I carefully plucked our family photo from the shelf and placed the gold and silver frame face up in the bottom of my empty suitcase. Wherever we were going, I wanted to bring the whole family and Grandma with me. The happy faces from two years before were completely happy and unaware of this upcoming…disaster. Grandma was still alive too. What had we done to deserve…_this_?

Slams and bangs roared loudly throughout the house.

"Annabeth," Mother said, rushing into the room with her arms loaded with clothing. "Hurry!" She set down her load and threw open my closet and dresser drawers, frantically throwing things and shoving things into my suitcase.

"Mother, where is my sketchbook? I can't find it!" I immediately began to panic—my sketchbook was filled with drawings of buildings I dreamt of designing one day. Building something permanent had always been my dream, and I couldn't do it without my beloved sketchbook.

"I don't know—we'll buy a new one! Pack your clothes; our time limit is almost over!"

Malcolm rushed into my room, dressed for school in his uniform and little tie, holding his book bag. His blond hair was combed neatly over to the side. Apparently he had heard Mother wrong.

"I'm ready, Mother," he said, his voice noticeably trembling.

"N-No!" Mother sputtered, nearly choking on the word when she saw Malcolm dressed for academy. She inhaled an uneven breath and lowered her voice. "No, sweetheart, your suitcase, come," she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back into his room. "Annabeth, put on shoes and socks—hurry!" she quickly thrust my summer raincoat at me before disappearing once more. I pulled it on, sliding my arms though the corresponding holes.

I strapped on a pair of sandals and snatched two books, hair ribbons, and my hairbrush. Where was my sketchbook? Deciding that attempting to search for my sketchbook may get us all killed, I took my ivory writing tablet instead, along with the case of pencils and pens, and the drachmas, which I had slipped into a pouch for safety keepings. I placed the items inside my suitcase amongst the heap of items that were hastily thrown into the suitcase. I quickly snapped the latches closed and rushed out of the room, the curtains blowing, flapping over the loaf of fresh bread, still sitting forgotten on my desk.

-:- -:- -:-

_I saw my reflection in the glass door of the local bakery and stopped myself for a quick moment. I had a dab of gray paint on my chin from painting one of my best works earlier today. I used my thumbnail to scrape it off before pushing open the door. The usual golden bell tinkled overhead. The shop was warm from the heat produced from the ovens and smelled of the usual; bread and yeast._

"_Annabeth, so good to see you." The woman rushed to the counter to help. "What may I aid you with?"_

_Did I know her? I racked my brain for all of the people I knew of. But this woman's face did not ring any bells. "I'm sorry, I don't—"_

"_Oh, I'm sorry! I apologize; my husband is a professor at the university. He works for your father," she explained swiftly, "I've seen you around town with your parents."_

_I nodded. "My mother asked me to pick up a loaf of bread," I replied._

"_Of course," said the woman, scurrying behind the counter and picking up a fresh loaf of bread. She placed it upon the counter and wrapped it in brown paper, and then handed it over. When I held out a few drachmas, she shook her head._

"_Please," whispered the woman, "We could never repay you as it is. Keep the money."_

"_What—I don't understand," I reached forward with the drachmas still in my hand. She simply ignored me as the bell jingled. Someone entered the shop and patiently waited to order._

"_Give your parents our best regards," said the woman, moving to assist the next customer._

_Later that same day, during the late evening, I asked Father about the bread._

"_That was very kind of her, but you should have just left the money on the counter anyways," he said._

"_But what did you do?" I asked him._

"_Nothing, Annabeth. Now have you finished your homework?"_

"_But you must have done something to have been rewarded with free bread," I pressed, in hopes that Father would give in._

"_I don't deserve anything. You must simply stand for what is right, Annabeth, without the presumption of appreciation or reward. Now, off to your homework."_

_I sighed. No success, so I trudged away to complete both my work from school and around the house._

-:- -:- -:-

No longer than five minutes later, Mother had already packed an equally large suitcase, identical to mine, for Malcolm. Being shorter than I was, it dominates his small frame, so he had to bend backward and lift it with both hands. Never once did I hear him ask for assistance or complain about the weight.

The sound of breaking china and the smashes of glass wailed throughout the house in brief intervals. Malcolm and I hurried toward the noise, finding our mother in the dining room, smashing all of her beautiful crystal and china on the floor. Her face glistened with a thin layer of perspiration, and her golden ringlets dangled loose over her dark and stormy gray eyes.

"Mother no!" cried Malcolm, running toward the broken shards of glass scattered amongst the floor. I quickly pulled him back before he could touch the glass and accidentally cut himself.

"Mother, why are you breaking all of your beautiful and ravishing things?" I asked.

Mother stopped and stared at the little china cup in her hand. "Because I love them so, _so_ much." Her arm wound back and fired the cup to the floor. Mother did not even pause to see it shatter before reaching for another.

Malcolm sniffled at the sight.

"Don't cry, sweetheart. We will surely get much nicer things."

Mother quickly pulled back her arm just as the door burst open and the three Roman officers from earlier barged in, carrying rifles. I froze—I was practically glued to my spot.

"What happened here?" demanded the tall officer, observing the damage.

"It was an accident," Mother replied calmly.

"You have destroyed Roman property," he bellowed, surprisingly calm and collected. I didn't mind that—I'd rather an officer like this, than one who shoots and kills straight away. Malcolm pulled his suitcase close, as if he feared that any minute now, it too, might become Roman property.

Mother turned to admire herself in the mirror, reaching up to affix her loose curls from her ponytail, and slipped on her favorite hat—a white hat with its brim curved upward. The light gray ribbon around the centre was tied elegantly with a white flower to its touch, matching the white/light gray contrast. The same officer then slammed Mother's shoulder with the butt on his rifle, throwing her face-first directly into the mirror. "Filthy pigs, always wasting time—you will not need that hat," he scoffed in disgust.

Mother straightened and steadied herself, smoothing out her skirt and blouse before adjusting her hat. "Pardon me," she said flatly to the officer. She fixed her curls once more. _Pardon me?_ Is that what she really said? These men burst into our cozy home in the dead of night, slam her into the mirror, and she asks them to pardon _her?_ Then she reached for her long, gray coat, where she had sewn all of her best jewelry and silver under the lining, and being her daughter, I understood Mother's act. She was playing the Roman officers like a careful hand of cards, not quite sure of what was about to be dealt next. I saw Mother in my mind, sewing almost everything valuable to her underneath the lining of her coat.

"I have to use the bathroom," I announced in attempt to direct the attention from my mother and the coat to me.

"You have thirty seconds—no more."

I shut the bathroom door and caught sight of my face in the mirror. I had no idea about how quick it would be to change; its beauty within fading. If I had the time, I would have just stood there, staring at my reflection, memorizing it. It would definitely be the last time I would look into a real mirror, for nearly a full decade, as my life, right there, shattered like glass.

* * *

_After finishing the chapter, you begin to realize that the book mainly highlights your grandmother's adventures during her travels arrested. Completely mesmerized by the plot, you slip out of your parent's room and run into your own room, sliding the book under your pillow. You decide that you would continue reading after you have dinner._

_You settle in for the night—turns out you didn't actually have the time to continue reading. Your parents had arrived home, and wanted for you to do some chores around the house. Knowing that talking back and complaining would get you into trouble, you do it. Late at night after fooling around with your iPod, you sigh, deciding that the first thing to do the next morning was to continue with the next chapter._

_But another part of you is bored. You just want to throw away the book and not even bother to read more about your grandmother's 'great' adventures. _

_What will you do?_

_Will you continue reading to find more about your grandmother's past, or will you ditch the whole thing and pretend you never picked up the book?_

_You push those thoughts aside, as you wish to sleep. You fix up your routine, making debating-on-whether-or-not-to-read-the-book your first priority._

_Finally, at long last, with all of your thoughts also settled for the night, you call it an eventful day, and Light's out._

* * *

**Fathom*—VERB: Understand after much thought/a Synonym of **_**solve**_**.**

**Deprecatory*—ADJECTIVE: Expressing disapproval; disapproving/a Synonym of **_**rude**_**.**

**NOTE: MALCOLM IS ONLY TEN, SO HE'S GOING TO BE ACTING LIKE A KID, OKAY? HE'S LIKE, FIVE YEARS YOUNGER THAN ANNABETH IN THIS STORY!**

**HOLY GUACAMOLE! THAT IS ONE LONG CHAPTER!**

**Well, for me, because hey—over 3,000 words? *whistles***

**And…**

**THIS IS A BRAND NEW STORY! YIPPEEE! **

**And for those of you who've read this one-certain-awesome book called **_**Between Shades of Gray,**_** I..err…stole it. WELL—I really loved the plot, and plus, I'm only using the dang book for guidance. Like I mean, c'mon, I hate research. And this whole story I'm writing, it's plain out of my head.**

**Also, I'm only going to use half the book, then the other half right out of my head, so…yeah…**

**DISCLAIMER—**

**I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING! IDEA & PLOT BELONGS TO Ruta Sepetys AND CHARACTERS BELONG TO Rick Riordan! I ONLY REPLACED THE SETTINGS AND CHARACTERS AND…I SCRAMBLED SOME STUFF!**

**Don't kill me…**

**ANYHOW!**

**I WILL BE UPDATING THIS STORY EVERY SUNDAY! UNLESS I FEEL REALLY HAPPY I WILL UPDATE ON ANOTHER DAY! BUT FOR NOW, SUNDAY, SUNDAY, SUNDAY!**

**And, do you like how I put YOU, as the reader, in this? **

**THIS STORY IS A LITTLE FUNKY, BECAUSE YOU ARE IN IT! LIKE, YOOOOUUU!**

**SOMETIMES, I WILL PUT UP A POLL FOR THE READER'S DECISION TO GUIDE THE STORY ELSEWHERE! LIKE, NOT ONLY ANNIE AND PRISSY ARE IN THE ACTUAL BOOK, BUT OUTSIDE OF THE BOOK [you know, the YOU parts?] TOO!**

**I BET THAT MADE NO SENSE!**

**SO…**

**REVIEW?**

**FAV?**

**FOLLOW?**

**BE AWESOME?**

**BE COOL?**

**SEE YOU NEXT SUNDAY!**

**[I HAVE NO IDEA WHY I'M WRITING IN CAPS]**

**:D**


	2. Chapter 2

A Broken Life

ATHENS, GREECE, JULY 1954

During the darkest hours of the night, a simple knock on the door forever changes the life of fifteen-year-old Annabeth Chase, and including those around her.

Pulled out of her once comfortable life, she, her younger brother, and her mother are trust into a cattle car, where she soon discovers their destination.

Rome.

Separated from her father, Annabeth desperately fights for her freedom and for those around her.

But will that, and love be enough to keep her alive?

* * *

Chapter 2

A Shocker

_The very next day, you stare at the book, silently debating whether or not you should read it. You feel like you should consult with your grandmother and have her explain everything, or even your mother. Just be staring at the book, you feel a pang of guilt for acting slightly nosy and reading a book about your grandmother's life without permission. But your side filled with curiosity did not seem to care._

_At long last, you pick up the book and flip to chapter 2. After a moment of hesitance, you finally begin to read._

* * *

-2-

HAVE YOU EVER WONDERED

WHAT A HUMAN LIFE IS WORTH?

We were ushered out of the house the moment I had stepped foot outside of the bathroom. The streetlamps had been turned off, creating a dark and shadowy atmosphere. The officers marched behind us, poking us with the tips of their rifles, forcing us to keep pace with them. Looking around, I spotted Mrs. Kunai peer out of her curtains, and the moment she had seen me looking, she immediately disappeared. Mother nudged my arm, which meant I should keep my head down to lower suspicion from the officers. Malcolm was having difficulty carrying his suitcase, as it kept on banging against his shins.

"_Festinant!_" commanded an officer. Hurry, is what he says in Latin, from what Mother whispered to me.

We made our way into the intersection of the street, toward a large, dark object. As we slowly got nearer to the object, it gradually formed a truck, surrounded by even more Roman officers. We approached the rear of the vehicle, and I spotted more people sitting inside, on top of their luggage.

"Boost me up before them," Mother whispered abruptly. I nodded, knowing that she did not want an officer to touch her coat and notice all the things she had sewn under the lining. I did as she asked. The officers then pushed Malcolm up, causing him to fall on his face, with his suitcase thrown on top of him. He quickly scrambled up as I was pushed up, so I wouldn't fall on him. I had made it without tripping, but as I stood up to my full height, a woman looked at me and her hand rose to her mouth.

"Annabeth, dear, button up your coat," instructed Mother. I glanced down, and saw that my owl-print nightgown dancing in the breeze. In the rush and sudden search for my sketchbook, which I unfortunately did not find, I had forgotten to change. I quickly buttoned up my coat, and when I looked up, I saw a tall woman with a pointy nose staring at Malcolm. It was Miss Hestia. She was one of the strict, spinster teachers from school. I recognized a few others; the librarian, the owner of a nearby motel, and several of the men I had seen Father talking with on the streets.

We were all on a list. I didn't know what the list was then, but only that we were on it. Apparently, so were the other people sitting with us. The truck's back gate slammed shut. A low moan came from a man with long, curly brown hair in front of me.

"We're all going to die," he groaned, "We will all surely die at some point."

"Nonsense!" Mother exclaimed.

"Oh, we will," he insisted, "This is definitely the end."

The truck jerked forward so suddenly, it sent many people off of their seats. The curly-haired man abruptly scrambled to stand and climbed the inside wall of the truck, and leapt out. He smashed onto the sidewalk, letting out a roar of pain, similar to an animal being caught in a trap. People screamed. The tires screeched to a halt and a few officers hopped out of the front and opened up the front gate. I saw the man thrashing around in pain on the ground. They hauled him up and threw his crumpled body back into the truck. One of his legs seemed awfully damaged. Malcolm buried his face into Mother's sleeve to avoid seeing the sight. I reached over and grabbed his hand. He was shaking violently. My vision blurred; I squeezed my eyes shut, and then opened them. The truck wrenched forward, once again moving.

"NO!" wailed the man, holding his leg.

As the truck slowed to a stop, I looked out to see a hospital. Everyone let out a sigh of relief, thinking they would tend to the man's injuries. Except, they did not—they seemed to be waiting.

A woman who was also on the list was giving birth to a baby. As soon as the umbilical cord was cut, they would both be thrown into the truck, regardless.

* * *

Almost four hours passed while we waited. We sat in the dark of the truck, directly in front of the hospital, and unable to leave the vehicle. Unless you wanted to be shot, we were ordered to stay in the truck. As we waited, other trucks passed, and a few even had people covered in large restraining nets.

The streets eventually began to buzz with activity. "We were early," one of the men commented. He glanced at his watch. "It is nearing three a.m. now."

The curly-haired man was lying on his back. He turned his face toward Malcolm. "Boy, put your hands over my mouth. Pinch my nose while you're at it. Oh, and don't let go. Don't."

"He will do nothing of the sort!" Mother snapped, pulling Malcolm closer to her.

"Foolish woman, do you not realize this is just the beginning? We have a chance now, to die with dignity."

"Athena!" hissed a voice from the street. I noticed Mother's cousin, Persephone, hiding among the shadows.

"Have you any relief, now that you're on your back?" Mother asked the man, completely ignoring her cousin.

"Athena!" the voice hissed once more, though a little louder.

"Mother, I think she is calling you," I whispered, eyeing the Roman officers carefully, who were smoking on the other side of the truck.

"She is not calling me—she is a crazy woman!" Mother claimed loudly, "Be on your way and leave us alone!"

"But Athena, I—"

Mother turned her head to pretend she was in deep conversation with me, completely disregarding her cousin. A small bundle was thrown into the vehicle near the man, who attempted to grab for it greedily.

"And you speak of dignity, sir?" Mother glared at the man as she snatched the bundle out of his reach and slid it under her legs. Watching, I silently wondered what was in the package and why Mother ignored her cousin. Sometimes, I didn't quite understand how Mother worked things out—calling her own cousin a _crazy woman?_ Persephone had taken a great risk to find her!

"Excuse me," said a man in a suit sitting across from us, "You are the wife of Frederic Chase, provost at the university?" he asked. Mother nodded, fiddling with her hands.

-:- -:- -:-

_I watched as Mother twisted her palms._

_Murmurs rose and fell throughout the dining room. The men, including Father, had been sitting there for endless hours. "Annabeth, take the fresh pot of coffee and offer it to them," said Mother._

_I nodded and walked to the edge of the dining room, holding the pot of coffee. A large cloud of cigarette smoke hovered over the table, held hostage by the closed windows and drapes._

"_Repatriate*, if they can get away with it," said my father, but stopped abruptly when he spotted me, standing awkwardly in the doorway._

"_Would anyone like some more coffee?" I questioned, gesturing to the sterling pot in my hands._

_Some men immediately looked down. A few coughed._

"_Annabeth, you are turning into quite a young lady," commented a friend of my father's from the university. "And I hear from your father that you're also a very talented artist."_

"_Indeed, she is!" Father exclaimed. "She has a very unique style when she designs her dream building. She's also exceptionally smart for her age," he added, sending me a wink._

"_So it's true—she indeed does take after her mother," joked one of the men, sending everyone into laughter. _

"_Tell me, Annabeth," said the man who wrote for the newspaper after everyone calmed down, "what do you think of this new Greece?"_

"_Well," Father quickly interrupted, "That is not a conversation for a young girl now, is it?"_

"_It will be a conversation for everyone Frederic, young and old," said the journalist. "Besides," he said with a smile, "it's not as if I would print it in the paper."_

_Father shifted in his chair uncomfortably._

"_What do I think of the Romans' intentions?" I paused, avoiding eye contact with Father. "I believe that the general is a bully. Perhaps we should push his troops out of Greece—they should not be allowed to come and take what the please; heck, they should not be allowed to camp here! And—"_

"_That is enough, Annabeth," Father bellowed. "Leave the pot of coffee there, and go join your mother in the kitchen."_

"_But it's true!" I exclaimed, "It's not right!"_

"_Enough!" snapped my father. I flinched, and set down the pot of coffee and started walking back to the kitchen. About within earshot, I stopped short to eavesdrop._

"_Do not encourage her, Joseph. The girl is so headstrong like her mother, it scares me," said Father._

"_Well," the journalist replied, "now we see how not only she takes after her mother, but her father also, doesn't it? You've raised a true champion, Frederic."_

_Father remained silent as the gathering ended then, and the men left the house in alternating intervals, some through the front and some through the back. _

-:- -:- -:-

"The university?" asked the curly-haired man, still flinching with pain. "Oh, well he is long gone."

My stomach went in spirals, as if someone had punched me. Malcolm had a desperate face on, and turned to Mother.

"Actually," said another man, "I work at the back, and I saw your father just this afternoon." He smiled at Malcolm. My instincts told me he was lying; Mother gave the man a grateful nod.

"Oh, you saw him on his way to the grave?" asked the bad-tempered curly-haired man. I gave him my death glare, silently wondering about how much glue it would take to keep his dirty mouth shut.

"I am someone who teaches fencing. A simple instructor and they're sending me to my death because I teach kids to defend themselves. A university man would surely be near the top of the list for—"

"Shut up!" I snapped by accident.

"Annabeth!" my mother said, "you must apologize immediately. This poor man is in terrible pain; he does not know what he is saying exactly."

"I think I know exactly what I am saying," the man replied hotly, keeping his eyes trained on me. I returned the stare.

Suddenly, the hospital doors flew open, and a great cry erupted within. A Roman officer dragged a barefoot woman in a bloodied hospital gown down the steps. "My baby! Please, don't hurt my baby!" she screamed, squirming, attempting to escape the officer's death grip. Another officer marched out, carrying a little pink bundle. A doctor then came running, grabbing the officer's sleeve.

"Please sir, you cannot take the newborn, it will not survive!" yelled the doctor, "sir, I beg you, please!"

The officer turned, and for a second I was relieved, thinking the officer would hand over the newborn. But unfortunately, life never worked that way. The officer kicked the heel of his boot into the doctor's kneecap, causing him to fall down. The officer continued to walk, and helped the other officer lift the woman into the truck. Mother and Miss Hestia scrambled to make room for her to lie next to the man with curly hair. The baby was handed up. I was honestly surprised they did not throw the baby up.

"Annabeth, please," Mother said, handing over the pink child into my arms. I took it and instantly felt the warmth of its little body penetrating through my coat. I smiled, despite the situation.

"Oh Gods, please, my baby!" cried the woman, looking up with me with teary eyes. The child let out a soft cry, as its tiny fists pummeled into the air.

Its fight for life had begun, just as did many others.

The man, who worked at the bank, handed over his coat to Mother. She thanked the man and took it, wrapping it around the woman's shoulders, and smoothed her hair away from her face.

"It is all right, dear," said Mother to the woman, no older than Mother.

"Hephaestus. They took my husband, Hephaestus," sniffed the woman. I looked down at the little pink face inside the bundle I was holding. A newborn—the child had only been alive for merely a few minutes, though it was already considered a criminal by the Romans. I held the baby close to my chest, and pressed my lips to its forehead. Malcolm turned and leaned against me. Thoughts rolled through my mind. If they would do this to a newborn…what would they possibly do to us?

"What is your name, dear?" said Mother.

"Aphrodite," she craned her neck. "Where is my child?"

Mother took the child from my arms and laid the bundle on the woman's chest. Perhaps many of the adults had a thing for the Olympians…

"Oh, my baby, my sweet baby," sobbed Aphrodite, kissing the infant all over its face. Suddenly, she glanced around, as if searching for someone. "Is my other daughter here?"

"I'm sorry, who?" Mother frowned.

"My other daughter—she is the same age as yours; Piper?" her head spun as her eyes widened, panicking. "Piper?"

"Oh dear, she is not on this truck," Mother sighed disappointingly. "Where was she last?"

"With my husband out of town," Aphrodite croaked, staring at Mother with pleading eyes. "They could not make it for the birth of my newborn."

"I'm afraid she is not here. I'm very sorry."

"My leg!" the man with curly hair wailed. I restrained from rolling my eyes—how much glue does it take to keep it mouth shut anyways?

"Do any of your have medical training?" asked Mother, scanning the faces in the truck. I did too, mostly for another girl my age, but unfortunately, there were none. People shook their heads, while others refused to even look up.

"I can try to make a splint," said the man from the bank. "Does anyone have anything straight and sturdy I can use? Please, let us help one another." People shifted uncomfortably in the truck, most likely thinking about what they might have in the luggage they brought.

"Sir," said Malcolm, leaning forward. He held out his little ruler from school. The old woman, who gasped at my nightgown, began to cry.

"Well, yes, that's very good. And helpful. Thank you," said the man, accepting the ruler from my brother's hands.

"Thank you darling, that was very kind of you," Mother smiled at Malcolm approvingly.

"A ruler, you are going to set my leg, with a little ruler no bigger than my forearm? Have you all gone mad?" the curly-haired man barked.

"It's the best we have at the moment," said the man from the bank. "Unless you do not want your leg to be set—anyhow, does anyone have something to tie it with?"

"Somebody just shoot me _please!_" yelled the curly-haired man. Gladly.

Mother slid her silky scarf from her neck and handed it to the man from the bank. The librarian pulled the knot from her scarf as well, as Miss Hestia dug in her bag. Blood began to soak the front of Aphrodite's gown.

Just looking around, I felt sick to my stomach. I closed my eyes and attempted to think of something—anything, to calm myself and my raging stomach. I pictured my sketchbook and my dream buildings within it. I felt my fingers trace drawings on my coat. Drawings, like my dream house with just the perfect measures. Our house, with Mother adjusting Father's tie in the kitchen, the valley, Grandma…just picturing her face soothed my body. The picture safely tucked away in my suitcase rolled through my mind. _Grandma_, I thought. _Help us._

The truck arrived at a small train station in the countryside. Roman trucks filled the yard, packed with people just like us. We drove alongside a truck with a man and woman leaning out. The woman's face was streaked with tears.

"Thalia!" the man yelled. "Do you have our daughter Thalia, or perhaps our son Jason?" I shook my head as we passed.

"Why are we at some countryside depot, and not the Athens station?" asked an old woman.

"It is probably much easier to organize us with our families. The main station is such a busy place, you know," replied Mother.

I glanced toward Mother. Her voice lacked the one thing she always spoke with; certainty. She seemed to be trying to convince herself. I looked around; the station was tucked in a complete deserted area, surrounded by some dark forests. I pictured a large rug being lifted by a mysterious person, and a huge broom sweeping us under it, trapping us.

"_Festinant!" _yelled a Roman officer as he opened the back gate of the truck. The train station's yard was swarmed with vehicles like ours, officers, and people hauling luggage. The noise level grew with each passing minute.

Mother stood and put her hands on Malcolm and my shoulders. "Stay close to me. Hold on to my coat if you absolutely have to. We must not be separated." Malcolm instantly reached out and grabbed Mother's coat, as did I.

"_Festinant!"_ yelled the officer, yanking one of the men off the truck and shoving him to the ground. Mother and the man from the bank began to help the rest. I cradled the infant to my chest as they helped Aphrodite down.

The curly-haired man squirmed with pain as he was carried off the truck. The man from the bank approached a Roman officer after we were all out of the bed of the truck. "We have people who need medical attention. Please, get a doctor." The officer ignored the man. "Doctor! Nurse! We need medical assistance!" shouted the man into the crowd.

The officer grabbed the man from the bank and slammed the butt of his rifle into his back and began to march him away. "My luggage!" he yelled. The librarian grabbed the man's suitcase, but before she could run to him, he had disappeared into the crowd.

A Greek woman stopped and announced that she was a nurse. She started to tend to Aphrodite and the curly-haired man while we stood in a circle around them. I sneezed; the train yard was dusty and filthy. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. Aphrodite's bare feet were already covered in dirt. Groups of people passed by with desperate and scared faces, and I noticed a girl from school pass by with her mother. She raised her arm to wave, but her mother had already covered her eyes.

"_Festinant_!" barked an officer.

"We cannot leave these people," said Mother, "you must get a stretcher!"

The officer laughed with an amused look on his face. "You can carry them yourselves."

And so we did. Two men from the truck carried the wailing curly-haired man. I carried the baby while Mother helped Aphrodite walk, and Malcolm struggled with the rest of our luggage, with Miss Hestia and the librarian's help.

We reached the train platform in a matter of minutes. The chaos was tangible, as families were being separated and children screamed, while their mothers pleaded. Two officers pulled a man away, and his wife would not let go and was dragged for several feet before being kicked away. How dare them. But I didn't budge—these men could easily kill without hesitation.

The librarian reached over and took the baby from me.

"Mother, is Father somewhere here?" asked Malcolm, still clutching her coat and hauling the luggage at the same time. I wondered the same thing. If Father was taken away, when and where had they dragged him away? Was it on his way to work? Or maybe at the newspaper stand during his lunch hour? Or maybe even just coming home from work? I tightened my grip on Mother's sleeve and looked around at the masses of people on the platform. There were even elderly people. Greece cherished its elders, and here they were being ushered around carelessly like animals

"_Festinant!"_ a Roman officer grabbed Malcolm by the shoulders and started to drag him away.

"NO!" Mother screamed, spinning around. My eyes widened. They were taking Malcolm—my beautiful, sweet brother who shooed evil bugs out of the house instead of stepping on them; who even gave his ruler to splint an irritable old man's leg; and was nearly as smart as I, though he could mishear things.

"Mother! Annabeth!" he cried, his arms flailing about, trying to loosen the guard's grip.

"STOP!" I shrieked, running after them. Mother rushed forward and grabbed the officer and began to speak in Latin—pure, fluent Latin. Who knew she could speak Latin? He stopped and listened. She lowered her voice and spoke calmly, though I could see the worry in her eyes. I couldn't understand a word. The officer jerked Malcolm toward him, and I snatched onto his other arm. His body began to vibrate as sobs took over. His shoulders shook. As embarrassing as it was, a big wet spot appeared on the front of his trousers. Malcolm hung his head and cried. I rubbed his arm, trying to get him to calm down.

Mother pulled a bundle of drachmas from her pocket and exposed it slightly toward the officer. He reached for it, but stopped abruptly and said something to Mother, gesturing with his head. Mother's hand flew up and ripped the amber pendant right from her neck, and pressed it into the officer's hand. He didn't seem to be satisfied. Mother continued to speak aimlessly in Latin, and pulled out a pocket watch from her coat.

I knew that watch.

It was her father's, and it had his name engraved in the soft gold on the back. The officer snatched the watch greedily, let go of Malcolm, and began yelling at the other people.

Have you ever wondered what a human life was worth? And be honest.

That morning, my brother's was worth a _pocket watch_.

* * *

_You stand there, mouth opened wide. A bee could fly in, sleep, and fly out, without the need to stinging you. A pocket watch, in exchange of your great-uncle. What nonsense!_

_You slam the book shut. What else had the Romans done? _

_Questions form in your head, but you shake your head. You decide that you'll continue to read the next time—for now, you have to wrap her head around the fact that your great-uncle's life, was worth a pocket watch._

* * *

**AND FINISHED! **

**Dang, that took hours to write! Nearly 4,000 words! Longest chapter I've ever written! I've read a chapter over 5,000, dang!**

**And when I read the part where it said, Malcolm's life was worth a pocket watch, I was shocked, honestly. **

**ANYWAY! There might be a few errors, and I'll fix them later when I read through. I gotta run!**

**Review, please?**

**See you next Sunday!**

**:D**


	3. Chapter 3

A Broken Life

ATHENS, GREECE, JULY 1954

During the darkest hours of the night, a simple knock on the door forever changes the life of fifteen-year-old Annabeth Chase, and including those around her.

Pulled out of her once comfortable life, she, her younger brother, and her mother are trust into a cattle car, where she soon discovers their destination.

Rome.

Separated from her father, Annabeth desperately fights for her freedom and for those around her.

But will that, and love be enough to keep her alive?

* * *

Chapter 3

Warm and Fuzzy

_It's early in the morning, and you lie in bed just thinking. Not about the book…but then as the front cover flashes in your mind, you groan as your mind wanders back to it. Lately you've been trying to ignore it. It just sits on your desk, just begging to be read. Now, it's in your hands, and you just simply stare at it, as if in a staring competition deciding life or death._

_You find yourself flipping through the pages until you find chapter 3. _

_Why not? It wouldn't hurt to keep reading._

* * *

-3-

WE ARE THRUST

INTO OUR VERY OWN

ROLLING COFFIN

"Darling, it's alright. It's all okay. We're still together," Mother whispered in Malcolm's ear, hugging him in hopes of him calming down. She kissed his face along with the fallen tears. "Right Annabeth? We are all okay."

"Right," I said quietly, smiling, despite the situation.

Malcolm was still slightly crying, but he started to wipe away the tears. But when he glanced down to the wetness at the front of his trousers, tears threatened to fall once more, as he was humiliated by the wetness.

"Do not worry about that, love. Once we find a comfortable place, we will get you a change of clothes," Mother said, releasing him and moving in front of him to shield his embarrassment. "Annabeth, give your brother your coat."

I quickly obeyed, and handed my coat to Malcolm, who snatched it thankfully. He slipped it on.

"Mother, why did he want to take me away?" Malcolm asked, still sniffling.

"I don't know. But at least we're together now dear," Mother replied. I nodded. I didn't know what I would do if _both_ Malcolm and Father were gone.

The three of us stood hopelessly on the train platform, chaos erupting all around, with me in my owl-print nightgown and Malcolm in a soft gray summer coat that nearly touched the ground. We must have looked absolutely ridiculous, though nobody even glanced at us.

"Mrs. Chase, hurry!" a voice called out. It was the voice of Miss Hestia. She hurried over and urged us forward. I frowned and stumbled slightly. "Over there, and hurry now, they seem to be splitting families up."

Mother grabbed Malcolm's hand, and he slid his other into mine, linking us all together. "Come, children." We weaved our way through the bustling crowd, almost like a small boat in a storm, unsure of whether we would be sucked in, or would stay afloat. We approached red wooden train cars, which lined the platform, stretching in large links as far as the naked eye could see. They seemed to be the kind that would haul livestock—build roughly and were dirty. Large masses of Greeks trudged toward them, dragging along their belongings, as did we.

Mother and Miss Hestia maneuvered us through the crowd, pushing and pulling our shoulders, trying to avoid being elbowed or accidently kicked. As I glanced around, I saw people clutching suitcases so hard, their knuckles were white as paper. Many were on their knees, tears falling in an endless stream, or tying bags spilling belongings with spare string while officers stepped on the contents carelessly. Farmers who were wealthy and their families carried buckets of milk, slopping around, along with rounds of cheese. Even a small boy was holding a sausage as big as himself, walking around. Suddenly he dropped it, and it disappeared in the crowd. A woman bumped into my arm with a candlestick of great value, as a man ran by, hugging an accordion. My thoughts turned to our own things back at home, shattered and broken on the floor.

"Hurry!" Miss Hestia shouted, beckoning us forward toward an officer holding a clipboard. "This is the Chase family. They are in this car."

Mother stood in front of the car and scanned the crowd with pleading eyes saying _please_ as she searched the crowd for most likely our father.

"Mother," Malcolm whispered, tugging at her coat. "These cars are for pigs and cows. Why must we board them?"

"We've got no choice, don't we? We'll have quite an adventure," she chuckled and boosted Malcolm into the car. The sounds of a baby crying and a man moaning stood out of the noises all around us.

"Mother no," I groaned, "I do not want to be with these people."

"Annabeth, we must. They need our help."

"Can't someone else aid them? We need help too," I argued.

"Mother, Annabeth?" Malcolm called from the train. "You are coming in right?"

"Yes darling. Here, take this bag," Mother heaved a bag onto the car, and Malcolm gripped the straps. Mother then turned to me. "Annabeth, we have no choice. Please, do the best you can to not frighten your brother."

Miss Hestia reached down for Mother. I sighed. What about me? Malcolm was not the only one frightened—I was frightened also. Did that not matter? _Father, where are you?_ I looked around the platform, which was now in complete uproar. I thought about running. Running until I could not run anymore. I would run to the university if I could to search for Father. If I had a choice, I would run to our house. I would just run to get away from this filthy place. But I couldn't just abandon Mother and Malcolm.

"Annabeth," Mother lifted my chin. "I know this is absolutely horrible. But we've no choice. It's very important for the three of us to stay together." She kissed my forehead and turned me toward the train car.

"Do you know where we are headed?" I questioned.

"Not yet."

"Do we _have_ to be in these cattle cars?" I protested.

"Yes. Now stop complaining Annabeth, I'm sure it will not be for long."

Mother was lifted aboard, and she turned around and thrust out a hand. I huffed, but took it anyway. Once inside the car, I immediately wrinkled my nose in absolute disgust. It was stuffy and so full of personal smells, even with the door open. Many were wedged in every little spot they could, sitting on their belongings to ensure that no one would take it. At the back of the car, large wooden planks had been installed on the wall as shelves. Other smaller planks stood underneath to keep them sturdy. Aphrodite lay on one of the planks with her baby wailing on her chest.

"OW!" The curly-haired man smacked my leg. "Watch it, you almost stepped on me!"

I rolled my eyes.

"Where are the men?" Mother asked Miss Hestia.

"I do not know for sure, but they must have been taken away," she replied.

"Oh dear…we need men in this car to aid the injured," Mother sighed.

"From what I could see, there aren't any. We've been sorted into groups of some kind. They just keep bringing people and shoving them in, even when the car is stuffed. Though there are some elderly men, they just haven't enough strength," Miss Hestia replied.

Mother eagerly looked around the car. "Let us put the little ones on the top plank. Annabeth, help move Aphrodite to the bottom plank so we could fit more of the children in here."

"Don't be a fool," barked the curly-haired man. "Make room, they will just cram more people in here! And I do not want any more people stepping on my bad leg!"

I made my way to the back of the car, careful to not step on anyone. The librarian, who assisted me with moving Aphrodite, was shorter than me, yet was strong. "I am Mrs. Glint," she said to Aphrodite.

Mrs. …she was also married. Where was her husband? Maybe with Father… The baby let out a ferocious cry.

"Is your child a boy or a girl?" asked Mrs. Glint.

"A girl," Aphrodite whispered, barely audible. She moved her bare feet, which were cut and full of dirt. I shuddered.

"She will need to eat soon," Mrs. Glint murmured, frowning.

I gazed around. With the sickening smell, I felt light headed. More people were being shoved inside, including a woman with a boy and girl my age. I felt a tug at my nightgown.

"Are you going to sleep?" asked a small girl with hair the color of chocolate. I mentally shook my head—I should not be thinking about things like that.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You're in your nightgown, so I thought you might be going to sleep. Are you?" she proudly shoved a poor doll in poor condition upward. "This is my dolly."

Ignoring the last part, my mind spun. My nightgown… I was still in my nightgown. Malcolm was still in my coat and his wet trousers. I had completely forgotten. I pushed through the crowd toward Malcolm and Mother. "We need to change our clothes," I hissed.

"There is no room to open our suitcases, and there is nowhere to change," said Mother.

"Please," Malcolm pleaded, pulling my coat tightly around his body. Mother sighed, and attempted to move to the corner of the car, except it was useless. So she bent down and lifted the cover of my suitcase a slight crack. Her hand slipped in and out, searching for appropriate clothing. I saw a blue sweater and some jeans. After a few moments, she pulled out my navy blue cotton dress. She then switched cases and began to search for a pair of pants for Malcolm. Her hand came out, holding some shorts.

"Excuse me," Mother said to a woman in the corner of the car. "Could we switch places with you so my children could change their clothing?"

"We are not moving," announced the woman. "Our spot, we claimed it." Her two daughters looked up at us. I shifted uncomfortably.

"I do realize that this is your spot, but please. It would just be for a moment so my children could have a bit of privacy changing," Mother replied as kindly as she could. The woman clamped her mouth shut and crossed her arms above her chest.

Mother shrugged and shoved Malcolm and I near the corner, nearly directly on top of the woman.

"Hey!" exclaimed the woman, throwing up her hands.

"Oh yes, so sorry. Just for a moment," Mother said. She took my coat from Malcolm and used it to cover the two of us. I slid my nightgown over my head, only for it to be replaced by another dress. I used my nightgown as an additional cover-up for Malcolm.

"He peed," giggled one of the girls, pointing at my brother who immediately froze.

"You peed, little girl? Oh poor thing," I announced loudly, trying to get Malcolm to change faster.

Finally, we gathered up the articles of clothing we had changed out of and left the corner of the car. The temperature had steadily risen since the time we had climbed in. The scent of an armpit hung in front of my face. I waved my hand in front of my nose, trying to fan the scent away. The three of us forged our way to the door, or rather near, hoping for some fresher air. We stacked our suitcases and Malcolm happily climbed on top, no longer embarrassed. He held the bundle from Persephone. Mother stood on the tips of her toes, peering out of the window to search for Father.

"Miss," said a gray-haired man, putting a small case on to floor beside Mother. "Use this."

"Thank you, that's very kind," Mother smiled thankfully and accepted the case.

"How long has it been since then?" he asked.

"Since yesterday."

"What does he do?" the man questioned.

"He is the provost at the university, Fredric Chase."

"Ah yes… Chase." The man nodded. He looked at Jonas and me with kind eyes. "Such beautiful children."

"Yes, I agree. They look just like their father."

-:- -:- -:-

_The four of us sat together on the velvet and smooth sofa, with Malcolm on Father's lap. Mother wore her silky emerald green dress with the full skirt. Her honey colored hair fell in shiny and delicate waves against the sides of her face, and her earrings, owls with emerald eyes, sparkled and gleamed under the bright lights. Father had chosen one of his new dark suits, Malcolm with his own dark suit, matching Father's, while I went with my cream-colored dress with the light colored satin sash and a matching ribbon for my hair. _

"_What a handsome family," commented the photographer, adjusting his camera. "Fredric, Annabeth looks just like you, only with her mother's eyes."_

"_Oh dear," Father teased, "Let us hope that she grows out of it, and ends up like her mother."_

"_One can only hope," I grinned. Everyone erupted with laughter, and the flash went off, capturing the moment._

-:- -:- -:-

I sighed at the memory. Looking around, I counted the people. About over forty-five packed in a carrier on wheels…or perhaps a rolling coffin. Bored, I used my index finger to sketch the exact image on the layer of dirt on the floor. Every so often, I would wipe the drawings away and start over, repeating the process over and over, like an endless cycle.

I listened in on different conversations as they predicted our possible destination. Some said the headquarters, while others thought north. I abruptly stopped drawing, and scanned the faces. I saw courage, anger, fear, confusion, or depression. Some were even hopeless, like they had already given up. Have I?

Malcolm groaned from above and swatted away flies from his face. Mother chatted quietly to the woman with the boy and girl my age.

"Where are you from?" asked the boy, looking at Malcolm. He had tanned skin and locks of midnight black hair. But what caught my attention were his mesmerizing green eyes…the color of the ocean, as if they held a world of their own within. He seemed like one of the popular boys from school.

"Athens," Malcolm replied. "What about you?"

"Atlantis."

My eyebrows rose. Atlantis, the island off to the east? The boy and I locked eyes for a moment, silent and awkward. I quickly darted my attention away to the girl beside him. She had pale skin and spiky black hair. She was dressed in complete black, and I pinched myself to keep from jumping at the sight of her electrifying blue eyes.

"Where is your dad?" Malcolm suddenly blurted out.

"The army, but he used to work as a fisherman. He's been gone for a while though," the boy said.

I turned my head to his mother I assumed. She looked like an officer's wife, fancy and great posture. Her brown hair flowed flawlessly down her shoulders, and her baby blue eyes held kindness. Malcolm continued to keep the conversation in the air before I could stop him.

"Our father works at the University of Athens. I'm Malcolm, and this is my sister Annabeth."

The boy nodded at me, and I struggled to keep my cheeks from burning up. "Percy Jackson. This is my cousin Thalia Grace." I nodded in return and looked away. Percy nudged Thalia, who glared at him. He raised his eyebrows, but faced forward once more.

"Do you think they'd let out, even for a few minutes?" asked Malcolm. "I think so. That way, Father would see us if he's anywhere nearby."

"Sorry to get your hopes down, but the Roman officers won't let us do much but sit here," Percy said in response. "Saw them beat someone who tried to run. Remember, Thals?"

"What?" Thalia growled. "Trying to get some sleep here!"

"Okay…" Percy raised his hands up in defense. "Didn't seem like it."

"You saw wrong, Kelp Head," she snickered.

"Children," said Percy's mother, Mrs. Jackson, sternly, yet kind.

"Yeah, yeah…" Percy leaned back. He turned his head. "Pinecone face," he spat.

"Shut up," Thalia glared at him. Malcolm and I exchanged looks.

"Don't ask," the cousins said in unison.

I looked over to where Mother was still speaking with Mrs. Jackson.

"I gave them everything I had. I lied and told them he was feeble and sick. I had no choice. My niece Thalia and I practically begged," whispered Mrs. Jackson. "They would have split my son from my niece and I. Now I have nothing of value; just some old clothing."

"I know. They had done the same with us, and my son is only ten," Mother said.

Aphrodite's baby wailed noticeably. Mrs. Glint made her way over to Mother.

"We're trying to feed the baby, but something is wrong," informed Mrs. Glint. "The baby's mouth will not function properly."

Minutes slowly drooped into hours, and they passed like those long days we often have. People complained of the heat and hunger. The curly-haired man whined about his pain, and I had to resist kicking his mouth shut. Others tried to organize the space and luggage, so we would have more air to breathe. I had to change from my dirt canvas to carving drawings on the wall.

At one point, Percy jumped from the car to go to the bathroom, but was instead punched and thrown back in by the Romans. We all cringed with each gunshot or scream. Percy was lucky to not have been killed or heavily injured. No one dared to leave again.

That was until someone discovered a hole, about the size of an average plate, in the corner where the arrogant woman sat with her two daughters. The three of them had been hiding the hole from the rest of us, and also the fresh air that came from it. People insisted that she move, but she would not budge, until she was dragged out of the corner, her daughters following. Then, we all took turns for the bathroom, while others would not bring themselves to do it. The sounds and awful smells made my head spin. A young boy hung his head and vomited through the hole.

Mrs. Glint organized the children and began to tell some stories to pass the time. The little ones scrambled toward the librarian, and even the young daughters left their grumpy mother and sat to listen in on the tales. The girl holding the dolly leaned against Mrs. Glint.

-:- -:- -:-

_We attempted to form a circle on the floor of the library. One of the boys lay on his back and sucked his thumb. The librarian read with an animated voice of different expressions, turning the pages with every finished paragraph. I listened and drew the characters in my black sketchbook. I sketched the dragon and my heart slowly began to run faster. He was definitely alive. I felt the wave of heat from his fiery breath waving in my face, blowing my hair back, singeing the ends. Then I drew the princess running for her life, her beautiful golden hair tumbling down her shoulders…_

"_Annabeth, are you ready to go?"_

_I looked up, to face the librarian who hovered over me. All of the others were gone._

"_Are you alright Annabeth? You look ill, are you feeling sick?"_

_I shook my head and just held up my sketchbook proudly._

"_My word…did you draw that?" the librarian quickly reached for the book. _

_I nodded, a big smile plastered across my face._

-:- -:- -:-

I felt that very smile spread across my face as I carved the same sketches in the wall of the car.

* * *

_You feel warm inside. Percy Jackson…that was the name of your grandfather—what a big spoiler! Though you feel curious as to how your grandparents actually got together…perhaps the book would explain it in careful detail, making sure to not miss the big parts. _

_You could hear your mother calling you. You sigh, and slide your bookmark in and jump out of bed. Maybe after a couple chores you could get back to reading. _

_The real fun begins now, you think as you change your clothing._

* * *

**WHOO! **

**That was so freaking long, it took many hours to write it out. 9 pages. 9 PAGES! But less words than chapter 2 so…eh.**

**YAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYY YOU GET TO SEE PERCY AND THALIA! YAY! WELCOME TO THE PARTY, PERCY AND THALIA!**

**And for those of you who've read the actual book this story is based off of, Thalia's just an additional character. I needed her in there. And then Percy's Andrius, Sally's Mrs. Arvydas and such…**

**And**_** evelyn star,**_** I had to search that up…so…nope. **

**GOTTA RUN!**

**Review?**

**See you next Sunday!**

**:D**


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